Professor Smith peered through the small window to his left and looked at the small terminal building lights in the distance and the sheen of light reflected from the wet concrete of the runway. "It's raining." He said to no one in particular.
"Great." Was Indy's only reply as he sat up, pulling the rim of his fedora up from his eyes and looking out at the cold, wet London nightscape. He had been to England on only a few occasions. It had rained then too.
"Do you guys ever get a suntan?" He asked sarcastically.
"You should see it in the spring." Professor Smith replied. Indy turned up his nose but said nothing. He had agreed to come and look at Dr. Smiths' notes and maybe find out a bit more about the whole affair but his initial gung ho attitude had worn off and he was beginning to get more than a little doubtful about the whole affair.
"Don't forget what I said, Dr. Smith." He said. "I'm willing to look and listen and I want to see the research notes on the cats and the dig in Alexandria. But after that...." He left his words hanging.
Dr. Smith wrung his hands but said nothing. He desperately wanted Indy's help in the affair and hoped he could convince him to help more.
The aircraft taxied to a halt near to one of the larger terminal buildings and a pretty young stewardess proclaimed their arrival at London airport and that the time was now eleven forty-five at night Greenwich mean time and could passengers please adjust their watches. She also informed them it was raining.
From the window, Indy watched a wheeled stairway being pulled into place by a gang of men and a few moments later the clang and creak of a door, followed by a marked drop in temperature told him it was time to get up.
Some ten minutes later the small company found themselves at a passport desk where a very officious young man studied their papers for more time than was necessary. Indy was becoming irate. He was cold, tired, had just suffered a long, tedious flight and was in no mood to be fooled around by a jumped up official. He was on the verge of saying so when the man returned the documents, smiled sickeningly and said, "Enjoy your stay, gentlemen. Next please." Indy shook his head, picked up his holdall and followed Professor Smith from the building. Marcus followed on, looking this way and that, still excited to be in England and afraid of missing anything.
Once outside again, They all pulled up their collars against the rain. Indy puled his hat down over his eyes. "Great." He said. "Now what?"
"One of my assistants is waiting for a telephone call from me. He will bring a car to collect us." Indy nodded and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he sat on a low fence and waited as Dr. Smith went and made the call.
Marcus continued his excited exploration of the area.
"He's like a kid at Christmas." Indy thought to himself, smiling as his friend minutely examined a nearby road sign, oblivious of the pouring rain. A sudden pang struck him as he realised how much Marcus meant to him. He was as near to a brother as he would ever have and they had both saved each other's skin more times than he could remember.
Some five minutes later, the sound of an engine grew out of the quiet to their left and a path of light swung around the corner. A large dark coloured saloon pulled up beside them.
Almost instantly, a tall man in the front passenger seat jumped out and raced around to open the rear door.
"Please, Dr. Jones. Dr. Brody." He said, indicating the rear seat. Indy looked in and instantly felt his hackles rise. In the back of the car sat a huge unshaven man with a bald head. He was no scholar or professor. He stood to look round for professor Smith but a sudden heavy blow to his temple sent him spinning into blackness.
How many hours had passed, Indy did not know but he awoke with a stinging pain in the side of his head and found he was bound, hand and foot in what looked like one of the store rooms in his own college. It was no longer dark, he realised as he saw light seeping through a small window high up in the wall. The window had not been cleaned in years. A quick look around told him he was alone and that in fact the room probably was a college or museum store but not one he recognised. "Back home again? The British museum?" He wondered. "What the hell's going on. And where's Marcus?" He had no answers.
He wriggled his wrists, tied behind his back and flexed his legs. The ropes were tight and well tied. He looked around and thought. There seemed to be no escape. Inching across the floor on his side, not unlike his favourite creature, the snake, he made his way to a desk and chair next to a few packing crates. He had the sudden idea of piling the items up to reach the window but immediately saw the opening was far too small for him to get through. Exhausted by his efforts, he leaned against the desk. A further look around the room showed little more than more boxes and various Egyptian mummy cases against the far wall. And a door. He looked up again at the window and the vague idea of a plan formed. Struggling against the desk, he raised himself to his feet and turned, to sit on the desk top. He leaned back and swung his legs upward, so that he was sitting on top of the desk. He was puffing and gasping for breath. "I'm getting too old for this," he thought, not for the first time. Then he heard them. Voices. Quickly, he rolled off the desk and wriggled his way back to where he awoke. He lay, eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness as the voices grew closer. He did not recognise them. Any moment the door would open. "What then?" he wondered. But the door didn't open and the voices receded into the distance.
Indy cursed vehemently under his breath as he realised he would have to struggle back to the top of the desk again.
Gasping, panting, puffing, he finally pulled himself back to his previous position where he sat recovering for a moment.
"Jesus, I really AM getting too old for all this," he muttered to himself. Then he looked up. If he could get the chair up on the desk, he might climb onto it. the window would be about level with his face. "Perfect," he thought. He twisted and leaned against the wall, pulling his legs around and underneath, so that he was kneeling on the desk. He inched around so that his fingers could just grip one arm of the wooden chair. Leaning forwards, he pulled the chair up, off the floor and gripping tightly, using his face as a wedge against the wall, he strained his knees to pull himself into a standing position with the chair behind him. "Great," he thought. Too soon. As he carefully pulled the chair onto the table behind him, he misjudged the size of the desk top and as he let go, he felt the chair fall away from him. "NOOOO," he cried through clenched teeth as the chair crashed noisily to the floor again. Indy froze, listening intently for the sounds of approaching people. He was sure someone must have heard the noise. He waited, tense, apprehensive. Nothing. Fully five minutes passed. Then he began to relax. He looked down at the chair. "Jesus, not again," he mumbled, climbing down carefully from the table once more.
Indy was almost exhausted and the pain in the side of his head was turning into a blinding head ache. It took him far longer this time to get the chair back up on the table once again.
Puffing like a steam engine, he turned and sat down, looking like a naughty schoolboy who had been told off and made to sit on his chair on the desk. He rested in this way for a while, then stood, once again looking up at the window. He had to get himself standing on the chair. The seat was quite small and this in itself would present no small problem. He thought for a moment, weighing up various ideas, concerned that the chair did not end up on the floor again. He couldn't face that.
Then he turned his back to the chair and sat as near to one edge of the seat as he could, almost falling off. Carefully, he leaned back against the wall behind and lifted his feet, only just managing to hook his heels on the opposite edge of the seat. He wriggled back, getting more of his feet onto the chair and slowly, gently began to lean forwards, while at the same time 'hopping' backwards, bringing himself into a squatting position in the middle of the chair seat. Indy gathered his breath for a moment then suddenly stood up straight. He looked to his right. The window was level with his face but he couldn't see through the dirt. He listened intently for a while and when he was sure there was no one about, he closed his eyes and with his head turned down, using his hat as protection, he butted the glass.
The window shattered instantly and Indy was showered with broken glass. As the last sounds of the falling glass died away, he listened again. Still there was no sound. Outside the tiny opening he could see a small, high walled courtyard. It was completely empty except for several very large puddles. It was raining heavily. Indy sighed. "England," he said to himself, answering one of his own questions. He turned back to look around his small prison and the precarious drop to the floor.
"Well, I guess it's easier to get down than it was to get up," he said to himself, carefully hopping to the edge of the seat. He looked at the desk top and hopped forward, going into a crouch as he hit the surface to minimise the noise. Carefully, he stood again and repeated his jump to land on the floor amid the broken glass of the window. Still there was silence outside the room.
Indy looked at the door, then the glass on the floor. Carefully he lowered himself to a sitting position, then rolled onto his side. Tentatively, his fingers sought out one of the larger shards of glass and he carefully picked it up. Turning the glass around between bound hands was not easy and Indy felt the warm slick feel of blood on his fingers as he began to saw through the ropes binding him. The broken edge of the glass was sharp but it still took a good five minutes of painful sawing before the ropes parted. Quickly Indy brought his hands round and rubbed his wrists. He was amazed to see that in fact he wasn't badly cut at all. He sucked at his fingers then began untying his bonds. His pulse quickened at the thought of being caught now, so near to escape. Still no one came. The ropes fell away and Indy was on his feet in an instant, listening at the door. Silence. Quickly, he searched the room looking for something he could use as a crowbar on the door. There was nothing. Opening some of the crates revealed only museum plaster replicas of priceless pots, figures and statuettes. He looked at the mummy cases leaning against the far wall and had an idea. Opening them revealed they were empty. He tried to move one and the weight of it reminded him sharply of the weight of the Ark of the Covenant. Gingerly, he stood one of the great coffins upright and carefully walked it on its corners until it stood beside the hinged edge of the door. When the door was opened, he reasoned, the coffin would be behind the door.
He considered pushing the coffin over, letting its weight smash the door down but dismissed the idea as the bulk of the sarcophagus would only block the door, hindering his escape. In his mind, Indy reverted to plan one. He unfurled his whip and tied a loop in the tail end. This he hooked over the head of the coffin. Wrapping the whip around his hands a few times, Indy leaned back, taking up the slack of the whip and taking the strain at the same time. He took a deep breath, put one foot on the sarcophagus and pushed. As the coffin went over, Indy pulled on the whip, easing the fall slightly, marginally reducing the thud as the heavy object hit the wall. He listened again. Still silence. So far so good. Indy could hardly believe his luck. He scooped up a large piece of the broken glass and quickly sliced a rectangle of leather from the surface of the desk. "Criminal," he said to himself as he ripped the piece of skin from the desk top, binding it tightly around the wide end of the blade of glass. He tested his new knife with a few strokes and thrusts in the air. Satisfied, Indy heaved the sarcophagus lid open and stepped inside, closing the lid on himself but keeping it wedged slightly with one of the plaster statuettes. In one hand he held his knife. In the other he held another of the plaster figures as a substantial club. Now all he needed was to get someone to come and open the door. Indy thought for a moment, then yelled. Loudly. No one came. He yelled again. Louder, this time. Silence. Frustrated, he opened the sarcophagus lid and squeezed out again, putting his weapons on the chair, near to hand should he need them suddenly. Opening one of the crates, he lifted out two heavy replica Greek urns. One after the other, in rapid succession, he raised the vases above his head and smashed them to the floor, yelling loudly at the same time. Quickly, he picked up his weapons and hid inside the coffin once more, awaiting someone to burst in to find out the cause of the commotion. He waited. Nothing.
"Christ, are you guys deaf or something?" he mumbled to himself.
Again he climbed out of the coffin. He was losing patience and couldn't be bothered to hide anymore. He stood close to the door and listened. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could hear voices. He stepped back against the wall behind the door and shouted loudly once again, holding his knife and club at the ready.
There was no response. He cursed, and put his weapons down. There was nothing else to do but wait and see if anyone came to see if he was awake yet, and maybe jump them then.
Indy rubbed at his throbbing head and looked at his makeshift club. He dearly wanted to pay someone back for the lump on his skull.
He waited, maybe an hour. No one came. Passing the time by investigating more of the boxes and climbing up to peer out of the window into the courtyard beyond only made him more irritable.
"I'll die of old age at this rate," he thought.
Then, more out of frustration than any real attempt to attract attention, Indy yelled "Come on, anyone. I want to escape!" and hammered hard on the wood of the door.
Gently, it swung open. It wasn't locked.
Indy grinned through clenched teeth and his forced chuckle of quiet laughter turned to "Bastard," as he stared at the passageway beyond. There was no one there.
Quickly he gathered his knife and club and left the room. The corridor ahead was fairly dark as there were no windows. He was at basement level and as such, knew he had to find some stairs. The corridor wound down many passageways, with doors off to the left and right and it took some time to check them all for signs of Marcus, or a way of escape.There were antiquities of all descriptions littering the way, stuffed animals, skeletons, pictures, boxes and cases containing all manner of items and dust. Layers of dust. Indy felt a sneeze building and cupped his hand tightly over his mouth to stifle it. "Chwfffff!" He spluttered quietly, Then, looking at the wet palm of his hand he looked around. A large stuffed bear stood beside him. Indy smiled at the bear. " Hi. My names Indiana. What's yours?" he said, deliberately shaking the bear's hand. He wiped his hand on the top of the bears head and whispered "Water on the brain. Dangerous." He winked at the bear.
"Who's there?" A voice called from around the corner.
Indy froze. He could hardly believe it.
"All that yelling and breaking things. Then a SNEEZE?. Dammitt."
Next to the bear was a door. Without waiting, Indy gripped the handle and turned. It wasn't locked. He entered and quietly pushed the door to behind him and peered out of the small gap. It was dark in the room and Indy held his breath. He knew that even if he wasn't found here, in a matter of moments his escape would be discovered. He looked at his makeshift knife and club. No one had tried to kill him, yet. He dropped the glass knife to the floor and gripped the club with both hands, raising it over his head to strike if anyone came through the door. Moments passed and Indy realised no one was coming to see what the noise was.
"What the hell is going on here?" he quietly muttered. Then he heard a scuffle behind him and he swung round and tensed himself to bring his club down on whoever was there. Indy froze with disbelief. It was dark but not so dark that he didn't recognise the familiar form of his friend, Marcus. He was crouched behind the door, hands over his head for protection, trying for all the world not to be noticed.
"Marcus," he said, in surprise. Marcus lifted his head slowly and peered at the tall man in front of him.
"Indy?" he said, questioningly. "Indy! Where did you come from?"
"I was going to say the same to you. Have you been here all the time?"
Marcus scratched his ear and said, "I woke up in here a few hours ago. I heard someone approaching, a sneeze, then a voice. Then the door opened and I hid. What about you? Where have you been?"
"Weren't you tied up?" Indy said, seeing that Marcus was free of any bonds.
Marcus chuckled. "Whoever tied my ropes was never a scout. They almost fell off."
Indy was puzzled. "There's something real strange going on here. It's almost as if we're supposed to escape." Then, seeing Marcus' puzzled look, he continued, "My door wasn't even locked."
"Indy, what's going on?" his friend asked, with a concerned tone in his voice.
Indy put his hand on his whip. "I don't know. But I aim to find out."
He opened the door and strode into the corridor. Marcus followed, shadowing Indy closely and looking over his shoulder often.
As they followed the corridor they became increasingly puzzled. There seemed to be no one about at all.
"Indy, look," said Marcus suddenly, pointing to a small table ahead and to their left.
Indy strode up to it and stared.
There, on the table in front of him, lay his shoulder bag and holdall. He looked around, then quickly opened the holdall. Rummaging inside for a few seconds, he drew out his army issue revolver. It was even still loaded.
"This is crazy!" he exclaimed, jamming the gun into his belt. "Someone is playing games with us, and I aim to find out who. Come on!" he said, striding off, with Marcus following, confused, at his tail.
